If Formalities Permit
by IV Red
Summary: About romanticism and how to survive around Xigbar, because some formalities are just that fun. // XigDem, for IxigbarI and Jotaku!


_Little drabble to try a few new writing methods. Unbeta'd 'cos I already gave Reifa too much work, and I want everyone else to see only the finished product._

_For my Xiggy (Mollie; welcome back from Canadalaaaaand!) and her evil Xiggy twin (Jessica aka Jotaku). :D I know this is pretty short and quick and nothing special; I do have another one in the works._

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**If Formalities Permit**

_One-shot Unique Chapter_

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He waited – or didn't, as he likes to think – with an interesting mix of dread and excitement. It would be, ah… the twentieth time, maybe, but that didn't particularly matter. Maybe it was the third or so and he just wasn't used to it yet. Maybe it was the past the twentieth time and he didn't give a damn, but Never Was was all about remembering things you'd felt before and didn't – couldn't – feel anymore, right?

Not that he remembered or anything. He really didn't. Maybe just vaguely so, because hey, he's got to take the act from somewhere, no? Maybe he really, really didn't. Maybe he didn't need the remembering; maybe he was experiencing things he shouldn't.

Then again, it wasn't as much about hearts – he sure gets off-track sometimes – as it was about Xigbar.

In that perspective, there was no way he could remember that sort of thing from his past life. Because, well, every-fucking-thing with Xigbar was an acid trip within itself and it sure as hell didn't happen anywhere else, with anyone else, in any other condition. Okay, that did make it a bit… complicated to react to. Make something up or _feel_ like the delusional-but-so-very-correct musician he was.

Being who he was, in the situations he tended to get himself into, he often opted fort the other option: fleeing. Or, as the case may be, not reacting to it and just going on with the day. The chore wheel seemed to be out to get him lately anyway.

Except that, as much as Demyx had been forced to flee from things before, he couldn't get away from that uncomfortable, turn-your-stomach-into-knots dread. Physically at least, he could feel that much. It really was something around the twentieth time, and he did give a damn after all. He did wait for it, pretending to go about his assignments normally and trying, really trying to concentrate, so that he wouldn't show the dread or the excitement. Even when a rather suspicious Zexion asked him whether Xigbar had returned yet, he kept it cool – oh, Demyx would be the first to know, but that's not precisely something he should tell VI.

Nevertheless, the point was that he waited. Expected it, but knew he'd be off-guard when it came anyway.

In that perspective, the gun against his temple was just a formality.

Demyx was pretty sure that Xigbar wasn't the most formal guy around, but some parts of the protocol were just _that_ fun.

* * *

Straight to business, it isn't long before they're rid of most of their clothing and Xigbar points the damn gun at his face again.

As _if_.

Xigbar toys with him like he would do so on a daily basis, only that it's anything but just verbal now. The thing that shouldn't unnerve him is that he does so with the same demeanour, same oh-so-joyful laugh, same careless but interested attitude. But it does take him off-guard, it does make him edgy and Demyx doesn't really know what to make of it.

Xigbar is anything but a straight-to-business kinda guy, but he _is _pointing the damn gun at his face again, straddling IX's waist as he sits on top of him, like having someone's boner against your thigh while you issue a quiet death threat is the most normal thing in the worlds.

II teases the younger male's erection with gloved, spidery fingertips, and although Demyx dislikes the rough feeling of the fabric, no kind of contact is unwelcome at the moment. The uselessly pointy end of the gun sliding down his cheek is but a mild inconvenience, something he gets off the way by effectively grabbing hold of the weapon and shoving the irksome pointy end in the soft underside of his jaw. He's overly aware of the fact that Xigbar's been fingering the trigger more than he has fingered the Nocturne himself, but hell if it matters with so much blood heading south, his teeth clenching so hard and his eyes squeezed shut so tight. Hell if anything mattered, if he could think about anything with Xigbar pressing down on him, biting his neck like that.

At least his moments of bravery count for something – the Freeshooter seems pleased, letting out a brief chuckle before he raises his head and gives Demyx an impressed and very much pleased look. He stares right back, of course, but is still unable to _not _swallow thickly and breathe faster after the initial struggles and – how would he forget? – with a gun just in the right position to blow his brain off in a single click-bang.

Xigbar smirks at him, and it's a cue, but Demyx never did figure out whether it meant he should start worrying, or that he should relax.

"Close your eyes."

Judging by the way he can no longer feel Xigbar's weight on top of him, and by the gun suspended in mid-air before him, aimed at his forehead, he would say that's his cue to be worried. Not that he has much of a choice; when it comes down to it, why would II need to pull the trigger? He could very well just space-bend the bullet out of the chamber at whatever speed he'd like.

Sometimes sticking to the orders is just _that _convenient.

So he closes his eyes – oh Kingdom Hearts, have some goddamn mercy – and concentrates on getting his breath even, although it's just an excuse to stop thinking about bullets and why the _fuck _that leads him to the thought of orgasms. He fails rather spectacularly anyway; feeling an impatient shiver run up your spine when a pair of hands slide between your thighs and spread your legs is just _that _distracting.

He tries not to think too much about it, of course, hard and untouched and edgy. He tries not to think too much about the familiarly cold substance around and inside his entrance and next thing he knows–

"_Fuck_!"

His sense of humour may be a tiny bit ridiculous, but maybe later he'd find the situation funny. Shouting that word in that time and place is just _that _ironic.

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Just like Xigbar isn't precisely a formal guy, Demyx isn't precisely a quiet guy – but, same for both, there are exceptions.

What _can _he say at the moment? Having no recollection of similar experiences, being unable to feel a thing – no, being too emotionally _stupid _to come up with a reaction within all the limitations of the second non-life.

He can't possibly have something even remotely romantic to say, or that's what's expected of him. Not as Demyx the musician, but as IX, the Nobody. Not that he gives a damn, but Myde was the romantic anyway, too in love with the sea and his music to be anything but that, a hopeless romantic. The farthest thing from a fighter, really.

_That's poetic,_ he muses absently. Perhaps he'd have to write a song to it later. Something nice, however, not overly mushy or depressing.

"Are you gonna go report?"

Xigbar stretches in his spot by Demyx's side before letting himself fall back unto the mattress. He glances up at the blond from his new position and smirks at him. "Nah…"

Demyx smiles back and moves closer to his partner; they say a musician never forgets his first love, and from that perspective, he _is _romantic enough to bother kissing Xigbar. Routinary as it is, some formalities are just _that _nice.

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_Go on, review. Make my dayyyyy._

_I just have to do some edits to the first chapter of my next story before publishin' (not interesting enough, dammit), so I'll see you folks again soon._


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